


Miracles Don't Happen Here

by Jadzibelle



Series: Miracles [1]
Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: AU from Magic Hour pt. 1, Angst, Content Warning: Alcohol & Alcoholism, Content Warning: Major Character Death, Content Warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Content Warning: Unhealthy Reaction to Grief, Eventual Audrey/Duke/Nathan, Eventual Reincarnation Fic, Funeral, Gen, Grieving, Implied Relationships, Multi, References to Audrey/Duke, References to Audrey/Nathan, References to Duke/Nathan (Perhaps requited but never spoken), Secondary Character: Audrey Parker, Secondary Character: Claire Callahan, Secondary Character: Dwight Hendrickson, So much angst, of a sort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzibelle/pseuds/Jadzibelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Burying Nathan was the hardest thing Duke had ever had to do."</p>
<p>-<br/>AU from Magic Hour, pt. 1.  Duke and Audrey don't get their miracle when they come back from Colorado.  Nathan is gone, and Duke is not prepared to cope with that.<br/>-</p>
<p>Duke-centric, involves very unhealthy grieving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracles Don't Happen Here

* * *

> _I waited here tonight for you to come_  
>  But your love just disappeared  
> I’m waiting in the dark for miracles  
> But miracles don’t happen here 
> 
> _-Miracles, Stone Sour [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xel8NU4Mhp8)]_

* * *

Burying Nathan was the hardest thing Duke had ever had to do.

He wouldn’t have gone to the funeral at all, if Claire hadn’t sent Dwight to drag him out of his liquor soaked fugue- Dwight had showed up the night before, thrown Duke bodily in the shower fully dressed, glared him down until he stopped swearing and swinging wildly, and had calmly and quietly informed him that Audrey was going to need him there, and he could either show up sober, or he could show up piss drunk and make an ass of himself, but he was going to be there one way or another.

The reminder that Audrey was likely in as much pain as he was hit hard enough to make him agree to behave, and Dwight stayed over to keep an eye on him and make certain he put on appropriate attire in the morning.

He was more sober than he’d been in twenty years when he showed up at the church in the morning, dressed in the only suit he owned- and it showed, his eyes bloodshot and his hands shaking and every inch of him wishing he’d put up enough of a fight to have his damn flask with him.  Fortunately, withdrawal looked enough like grief that nobody commented, and he stood stiffly next to the silent shadow of Audrey Parker, neither one of them willing to bridge the inches between them to touch.

He doubted she’d ever bridge that distance again.  He knew he wouldn’t.

There was no comfort in their mutual grief.  There was only the harsh reality that they both blamed themselves, and each other, and there was no forgiveness for this trespass.

Duke wasn’t entirely sure how he held together through the funeral, how much was simply him trying not to make things worse for Audrey than they already were, and how much was refusing to show weakness in front of a crowd, but he suffered through the ceremony without collapsing.

There was a moment, when he walked forward with Audrey to scatter the first handfuls of dirt over the casket, when his resolve faltered.  When the scent of the earth in his hand, damp and sun-warmed and rich, sent a wave of vertigo rolling through him, dragged him viscerally back to a field on a hill and a quiet, golden afternoon far too recent in his memory.  He swayed, a tremor far worse than the ones that declared how badly he needed a fucking drink nearly knocking him to his knees, but he recovered, somehow, released his handful of earth and turned away, walked back to his place.

Burying the first Chief Wuornos had been hard enough.  He’d've leveraged himself down to his bones to avoid burying this one, if he’d had any choice at all.

When it was over, and the crowd dispersed, Claire collected Audrey, and Duke was glad of that, because Claire was probably the best person to take care of her, right now.  Duke watched them leave, watched everyone leave, watched the employees of the cemetery fill the grave and replace the sod and smooth it down.

He left when security wandered through and told him they were closing the gates for the night, went back to the Rouge and changed into real clothes and put three bottles in a backpack and went right back, hopped the fence and settled himself down at the foot of the spreading maple that overlooked the barely-visible rectangle and its accent of complicated floral arrangements.

He was halfway through the second bottle of scotch when he broke.  The first burn of tears caught him by surprise, and he drew his knees up, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, took another too-long swallow.  Tried to drown the tightness in his chest and the pressure in his head.

He took out his phone, dialed Nathan’s number, let it ring through to voicemail.

Listened to Nathan’s brusque instruction to leave a message.  Hung up, and did it again.

The hitching sob wasn’t so much a surprise, after the tears, he’d known he wasn’t actually going to be able to drink enough to stop himself, but he resented it all the same.  He folded himself down, fighting to control his breathing, but another sob escaped, and another, and he  _wept_.  Angry, and desolate, and overwhelming- he sobbed, and seethed, and  _broke_.

He hadn’t cried like this over his father.  Hadn’t cried like this over Evi.  That probably said something unpleasant about him, but he didn’t care.

Nathan had been a constant in his life since they were five years old.  Duke had no idea how to process the fact that he was  _gone_.  He sobbed until he couldn’t anymore, until there was no more sound to be had and no more tears to be wrung and still, he shook, and kept shaking.

He wasn’t exactly surprised when Dwight showed up at a quarter past four, because Haven was still Haven, and someone was obviously still trying to hold things together.

“I’m not leaving,” Duke said, by way of greeting- his voice was hoarse, the words thin and shaky.

“You can’t spend the night in the cemetery, Duke,” Dwight replied, and Duke took another drink.

“Can, and am,” Duke said, motioning around, indicating the fact that he was, in fact, doing exactly that.

“And tomorrow, what then?”

“That sounds like a problem for tomorrow.  Also for someone who isn’t me.”

“Duke-”

“I’m  _not leaving_.  You want to try and make me, that’s your choice, but I wouldn’t, if I were you.”  Duke took another drink, and looked up at Dwight.  “And that was, actually, a threat, in case it wasn’t clear.”

“You think this is what he’d want you to be doing?” Dwight asked, judgement in his voice, and Duke was on his feet before he’d thought it through, swaying and shaking, one of the empty bottles clutched in his hand.

“Not a question you want to ask me right now,” he seethed.  “He doesn’t want  _anything_ , he’s  _dead_.  He’s dead, because we weren’t  _there_ , and like  _hell_ I am letting you make me leave him alone  _now_.”

“Sitting vigil isn’t going to bring him back,” Dwight replied, the words blunt and heavy.  “Believe me, I know.  I’ve tried it.”  Dwight took a step closer, sighed and sat down, and Duke blinked, because he’d been braced for a fight.

“It’s Haven, you don’t know that,” Duke said, the words plaintive.  “You don’t  _know_.”

But even in the dark, Duke could read Dwight’s expression, the silent reminder that Duke’s Trouble was only good for putting people  _into_ the ground, not getting them back out of it.

Useless for anything worthwhile.  Hardly a fucking surprise- it was  _his_ Trouble, after all, and Troubles did seem to reflect their owners.

“When was the last time you slept?”  The question was careful,  _gentle_ , and Duke resented it immensely.

“…The plane.  I think.”

“Have you  _eaten_ since you got back?”

“Probably.”

“So no.”

“Maybe.”

Dwight sighed again, like this was somehow his problem, like Duke had  _asked_ for his interference.

“Killing yourself over this, it isn’t going to fix anything,” Dwight said, and Duke looked over at him, at the shadows of his profile in the darkness.  It was almost funny; Dwight wasn’t usually  _that_ wrong.

“Not really your business, either way,” Duke said, dropping back down onto the grass, feeling the earth move- not a comforting movement, not the easy swell and fall of the sea, but a persistent, overwhelming  _pull_ to the right.  Two and a half bottles of scotch on an empty stomach and no sleep might not have been the best idea he’d ever had, honestly.

“Last thing Audrey needs is to be worrying about you right now,” Dwight said, a note of censure creeping into his voice.  “She’s lost enough, don’t you think?”

“…Yes,” Duke said, because there was no arguing that point.  Audrey  _had_ lost enough, had lost too much.  He’d heard what she’d said, felt each word burrow in and  _bite_ , a reminder of their mutual failing.  An echo of his own hurts, pulled out of the silence he’d always kept.

“Go home, Duke.  Go to sleep.  Eat something when you wake up.”

“I’ll leave when it gets light,” Duke said.  “You can go.”

“Sitting here-”

“He didn’t like the dark,” Duke said, the words sharp, and he hadn’t really meant to say them, but Dwight went quiet, at least.  “He didn’t- since we were kids.  He didn’t talk about it, too macho to admit it, but…  After his Trouble kicked in.  He didn’t like the dark.  Didn’t like not being able to see.”  Duke closed his eyes, tried to steady himself.  Failed.  Continued anyway, his voice shaking.  “It was easier.  When he wasn’t alone.”

“…Be out of here before the gates open,” Dwight said, after a moment, something like understanding in his tone.

“I’ll leave when it gets light,” Duke repeated, folding down over his knees.  He was exhausted, and the world kept spinning, but he couldn’t- wouldn’t- sleep.  He’d be able to be out before anyone from the cemetery showed up.

“…It does get easier,” Dwight said, the words quiet and careful and  _knowing_ , and Duke  _laughed_ , high and brittle and wild.

“Whatever you say, big guy,” he managed, the words laced with poisonous humor.

Maybe it did.  Duke didn’t plan to find out.  Audrey went away in fourteen days.  Duke only had to manage until then.

Dwight hesitated, clearly not sure what to do with that response; when he finally stood up and walked away, Duke could only be relieved.  Only company he wanted just then was six feet down and silent, anyway.

Fourteen days.  He just had to manage fourteen days.


End file.
